


Attachments

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Kittens, M/M, bottle-feeding kittens, figuring it out, tiny kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam clomped down the stairs to deliver the two bags of groceries Dean had requested.  Despite his gargantuan brother’s attempt to fill the doorway with his considerable bulk, Dean could see Kevin and Cas moving behind him, laden with bags and boxes.</p>
<p>“Ok, what’s with all the sneaky errands?” Dean demanded.</p>
<p>Sam fake-coughed and blinked a few times.  He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Kevin yelled, “It’s almost Christmas.  No peeking!”</p>
<p>“Yes!”  Sam agreed, “That’s it.  No peeking.”</p>
<p>Dean rolled his eyes.  “Dinner’ll be ready at six-thirty, if you can pull yourselves away from the macaroni and glitter.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attachments

**Author's Note:**

> For [CluelessAkemi](http://cluelessakemi.tumblr.com/) (who wanted TFW bottle-feeding kittens) and [IamKevinFreakingSolo](http://iamkevinfreakingsolo.tumblr.com/) (who wanted Kevin being cute in the bunker).

It was too quiet inside his own head, Castiel had explained.  He’d never realized what a comforting presence his brothers and sisters had been until they were gone.  Being outdoors helped.  The soft cadence of a stream, the rustle of dry leaves blown across the forest floor, a burst of chattering squirrels, the shrill call of a red tailed hawk.  All of it came together in a mosaic of sound that helped to fill the emptiness. 

 

Cas told him that the day Dean had been, well, he hadn’t been following him, not exactly.  After a string of days with Cas gone for hours on end, Dean had simply waited outside late one afternoon.  He’d puttered with the Impala to give his hands something to do, but mostly he’d squinted into the distance, expecting Cas to trudge back along the road from town, figuring he’d been spending his hours in the public library.  Instead, Cas had appeared behind him, from the path that led into the woods, his coat flapping in the cold breeze.

 

Dean hadn’t known what to say to that, so he’d just cleared his throat and told Cas that the trench coat wasn’t going to cut it in that weather.  Nobody has time to play nursemaid if you get sick, he’d warned sternly, even as he resisted the urge to pick a seed out of Cas’s hair.  Helicopters.  That’s what Sam used to call them when they went whirring from the maple trees on a big gust of wind. 

 

“You’ve got a little—“ he’d said to Cas, gesturing vaguely above his own left ear.  “And I’ll find you a warmer coat.”

 

*

 

Dean pulled a sturdy canvas jacket from his own closet, one lined in soft flannel. He checked it for holes and tested the zipper to be sure it slid securely to the corduroy collar. The jacket had a number of large pockets and into them he tucked a pair of warm gloves, a scarf, and a handful of tissues.

 

Cas still disappeared for hours at a time, but at least Dean knew (approximately) where he was and that he was protected from the elements.  Maybe he should have offered to go with him on these walks, but Dean didn’t know how to ask and, anyways, Cas never invited him.  And it wasn’t that Dean worried about him but, as the days got progressively colder, he sometimes found himself wandering out to the front of the bunker as the daylight faded, maybe running a sponge along an already clean kitchen counter so that he could make Cas a cup of something hot when he came back with his hair wild and his cheeks pink.

 

*

 

On this particular day, Cas came through the front door accompanied by a blast of frigid air.  But instead of taking off his coat and joining Dean in the kitchen, he strode wordlessly down the staircase and towards the hall that led to the library.  

 

Dean threw the sponge into the sink and poured himself a glass of cold milk, then liberated three gingersnaps from the package in the cabinet. 

 

A few minutes later Cas returned with Sam, who immediately went to the closet to put on his own coat. 

 

“I’m gonna take the car into town,” Sam announced.

 

“I was heading there myself.  I need to hit the store,” Dean said, leaving out the part about how he thought Cas might like to see the Christmas trees lit up in the Lebanon town square.

 

“Give me your list and I’ll take care of it.”  Sam had his coat zipped and was already lacing up his boots.

 

“We could all go,” Dean suggested.  “Pick up some dinner in town?  It would be good for Kevin to get out a bit.”

 

Instead of answering, Sam looked at Cas.

 

“I’m not feeling all that well,” Cas said, hugging his arms across his body.  “I’d rather stay here.”

 

Dean turned to study him.  “I told you you’d get sick if you spent all that time in the cold.”  He looked more closely.  “Oh hell, I didn’t realize it was raining.  Give me your coat and go put on something dry.”  He reached an arm out for the wet garment, but Cas turned away.

 

“Yes, I’ll go do that,” he said as he hurried to his room.

 

Dean spun back around in time to see the front door closing behind Sam.  He sighed and pulled out his phone to text his dumbass brother the grocery list.

 

*

An hour later, as Dean was pulling a container of chicken noodle soup from the freezer, Cas and Kevin materialized in the front of the bunker.

 

“How does soup sound?” Dean called from the kitchen, but they went up the stairs to the front door without acknowledging him. 

 

Sam clomped down the stairs to deliver the two bags of groceries Dean had requested.  Despite his gargantuan brother’s attempt to fill the doorway with his considerable bulk, Dean could see Kevin and Cas moving behind him, laden with bags and boxes.

 

“Ok, what’s with all the sneaky errands?” Dean demanded.

 

Sam fake-coughed and blinked a few times.  He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Kevin yelled, “It’s almost Christmas.  No peeking!”

 

“Yes!”  Sam agreed, “That’s it.  No peeking.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Dinner’ll be ready at six-thirty, if you can pull yourselves away from the macaroni and glitter.”

 

*

At dinnertime, Cas set out napkins and silverware while Dean ladled the steaming soup into bowls for Kevin to carry to the table.  By the time Dean emerged from the kitchen with the tray of fresh bread, the other three were nearly done with their soup.  Standing and picking up his empty bowl, Kevin nabbed a hot roll before Dean could even set the tray on the table.

 

“I’m done.  Gonna get back to work,” he said, in a tone more cheerful than Dean had heard out of him in weeks.

 

“You having a breakthrough with the tablet or something?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah, a breakthrough.  Or three.” Kevin called over his shoulder.

 

“Frigging’ teenagers,” Dean said, turning back to Cas and Sam.  “I can’t keep up with these mood swings.”

 

Both of his dining partners made vague, agreeable noises as they rapidly spooned in soup. 

 

“You feeling any better, Cas?”  Dean asked, since apparently it was his night to be in charge of conversation.

 

“Yes. Much,” Cas said around a mouthful of bread.  He stopped chewing to tilt his head in consideration.  “I should probably make it an early night.”  He stood and carried his dishes to the kitchen before making his way down the hall.  Sam pushed his chair back a second later to follow him. 

 

Dean sat by himself, a mostly-full bowl of soup in front of him.  He buttered up a roll and took an enormous bite, muttering as he chewed. “Oh, no problem, guys.  Any time.  Glad you liked it.  Sure, I’ll be happy to clean it all up now.” 

 

*

A few hours later, Sam wandered into the front room where Dean was flopped in front of the television.  “You wanna watch something?” Dean asked.  “You can change it, I don’t care.”

 

“No, thanks.  I’m just gonna—“ Sam said, hooking a thumb towards the kitchen.  Dean stretched and got up off the couch to see Sam putting two mugs of water in the microwave. 

 

“Does Cas want tea?”  Dean opened the drawer where Cas kept his tea collection.  “What kind?” 

 

“Uh,” Sam said.  “Whatever’s fine.”

 

Dean rummaged around before pulling out a couple of tea bags from the Sleepytime box.  “Here.” 

 

But instead of dunking them into the mugs, Sam shoved them in his pocket.  “I’ll add them back there,” he explained as he walked out as fast as one can walk with a cup of boiling water in each hand.

 

Dean drummed his fingers on the counter for a minute.  Then he grabbed the jar of honey from the cabinet and walked down the hall, stopping at Cas’s room first.  Despite the light being off, he tapped on the door.  No answer.  Dean knocked a second time, more loudly, then opened the door and flipped on the light. Just as he’d expected, Cas wasn’t there. 

 

Pulling the door shut, he continued past the bedrooms to where the hall forked off to the right.  Moving stealthily, Dean followed the faint sound of voices until he rounded a corner to find light spilling out from under the door of one of the small storage rooms.  Creeping closer, he stood next to the door, listening.  The soft murmur coming from the room was punctuated by a high-pitched squeal, sudden enough to make Dean press against the wall, startled.

 

 

“Oh my GOD,” Kevin said.  “Did you see that?”

 

“Chill, Kev,” Sam said, but his tone was fond.

 

“Sorry.  It’s just—my mom would have  _never_ —“ The answer was bound to remain a mystery as Kevin broke off into a fit of giggles.  Dean could hear a rumble of laughter from Cas as well.

 

Here’s the thing: Dean Winchester does  _not_  get his feelings hurt.  Life is too short and junior high too far in the rearview mirror for that sort of thing.  If his brother and his best friend and his whatever-the-hell Kevin was to him all wanted to spend time together laughing and excluding him, then good for them.  It was absolutely not a problem.  He would turn right around and creep back to his room and leave them to their stupid fun.  Only he lingered a moment too long because the door opened and Kevin stood there, his arms full of towels.

 

 

“Dean!  Hi Dean!” Kevin said brightly.  And loudly. 

 

Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one hip against the wall.  “Hey, Kev.  What’s up?”

 

Sam appeared in the doorway behind him, meeting his brother’s eyes for a long moment.  “Forget it, Kevin.  We’re busted.  Go put those in the washer.”

 

Kevin scurried off as Sam opened the door wide to usher him inside.  Stepping into the room, Dean took in the sight of Cas sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a cardboard box.  Behind him, one of the storage shelves had been cleared of archive boxes and now held a stack of clean towels, a large can with a plastic lid, and a measuring scoop.  The mugs Sam had brought from the kitchen were next to that and one contained a bottle smaller than any baby bottle Dean had ever seen. 

 

Taking another step inside, Dean confirmed his suspicions by glancing into the box on the floor.  Nestled into a bed of towels was pile of white and orange fur. 

 

“Absolutely not,” Dean said.

 

Cas reached into the box, gathered up a towel, and clutched it to his chest.  Awkwardly, he got to his feet, careful to keep the bundle steady and secure.

 

“I found them outside today. They were alone, in the rain—“

 

“ _Them_?” Dean asked, his voice rising. “How many are there?”

 

“Three,” Sam supplied.

 

“One was already dead.”  Cas said softly, eyes downcast.  “If only I’d found them sooner.” 

 

With that, the entire lecture on survival of the fittest dissolved somewhere between Dean’s brain and his mouth.  He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “All right, fine.  But this is temporary, you got that?  And I want no part of it.”

 

Nobody thanked him, he noticed.

 

“Do you want to see them?”  Cas moved towards him, a hopeful look on his face.

 

“Not really,” Dean said, but he didn’t sound convincing, not even to himself. 

 

Cas tipped the towel back, cupping the three tiny bodies in his hands.  Their fur was matted but dry, and they huddled together, a tangle of paws and tails.

 

Dean turned on his heel and left. 

 

He felt like he was fourteen again, telling Sam and his big, sad eyes that they couldn’t bring the class guinea pig home over winter break.  Why was he the only one who understood the danger inherent in these kinds of attachments?  Why did he always have to be the bad guy?

 

It was hard enough on the  _people_  in their lives.  How many fully-grown people, strong people,  _hunters_  for God’s sake, ended up hurt or dead?  Dean’s hands were full just trying to keep the four of them alive.  And they wanted to throw fucking  _kittens_  into the mix?  

 

 

Sam caught up to him just as Dean got to his room.

 

 

“Look, we should’ve told you, I get that, but Cas literally brought them home in the pocket of his coat.  He came to me because-- “

 

 

“He came to you because he knew I’d say they couldn’t stay,” Dean interrupted, ignoring the twist of guilt in his stomach.

 

“He came to  _me_  because he remembered Amelia was a vet,” Sam said pointedly.  “He was already blaming himself for not finding them in time to save the fourth one.   What was I supposed to do, Dean?”

 

“Jesus, Sam, they’re so small.  It’ll be that much harder if he gets attached first.”

 

“I know,” Sam admitted.  “But he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try.  There’s so much he can’t fix.  But this?  It’s something at least.”

 

Dean raised a weary hand to rub his throbbing temple.  “You know how this ends, right?  And it sure as hell ain’t playing house with a bunch of kittens.”

 

“Yeah, ok.”  Sam let out a long breath.  “I gotta get back.  They need to be fed every three hours ‘round the clock and I’m the only one who’s done it before.”

 

 

*

Dean jerked awake to the sound of something heavy clattering in the kitchen sink.  “Dude!” he said loudly, an all-purpose admonishment as he got his bearings, heart pounding.  Blinking at the clock, he saw it was nearly 2 AM. He must’ve fallen asleep watching TV.

 

Cas peeked out of the kitchen with a mug and a bottle tucked into one arm, a towel wrapped bundle clasped to his chest with the other.  “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“Feeding time again? ” Dean asked as he sat up.  They’d been out warming bottles barely an hour ago. 

 

“The other ones eat, then sleep contentedly.” Cas glanced down, his brow furrowing in concern. “But this one either cries or is listless.  It doesn’t appear to be eating well.”

 

 Dean worked his jaw for a moment.  “What does Sam say?”

 

A beat of silence passed before Cas answered.  “He says sometimes they’re just too little.” As Dean watched, the look of worry was replaced by one of steely-eyed determination.  “I’m going to try again.”  Arms full, he turned back towards the kitchen.

 

“Give it here.”  Dean said with a sigh.

 

“Dean—“

 

“Just while you heat the bottle or whatever.”  Dean gestured impatiently and, after hesitating in the doorway, Cas walked to the couch and laid the bundle gently in Dean’s lap.

 

“I’ll only be a minute.” 

 

The bundle was so light that Dean thought for a moment it was empty. He unwrapped the towel to check and found the kitten lying alarmingly still, curled in on itself.  The kitten's fur was fuzzy and white but a large orange patch covered much of its head, trailing down between its eyes, stopping short of the pink nose.  The outline of ribs was visible through its skin and Dean lightly trailed a finger over them, feeling each sharp ridge.

 

Dean checked to see that Cas was still in the kitchen before turning back to the kitten.  “Pull it together, little dude,” he murmured.  “We’re not losing any kittens on my watch.”  The kitten opened its eyes and made a small noise, more creak than meow.  “The guy who saved you?” Dean continued, stroking the kitten gently from the top of its head to the base of its tail.  “He’d scrape together the last bits of his grace to mojo you back to health, if he could.  But he can’t.  So you’re gonna have to do your part.”  The kitten blinked solemn eyes in response.

 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked a few minutes later, when Cas returned with the warmed bottle in his hand.

 

“They’re too little to tell,” Cas explained.  “And Sam advised us against naming them, but…I’ve been mentally referring to this one as ‘Patch.’” He reached down to put a fingertip on its orange head. “I can take it now.”

 

“Show me how to do it,” Dean said.

 

“But—“

 

“Just show me.”

 

Cas hovered by his shoulder a moment, then sat on the couch next to him, legs touching as he leaned into Dean’s space.  “It needs to be on its stomach,” he said, helping Dean roll it over.  The kitten lifted its head and made that creaky noise again, then began to sniff frantically when Cas brought the bottle towards its mouth.

 

“It wants to eat, so that’s good, right?” Dean asked. 

 

“I suppose,” Cas said, but his brow was furrowed again.  “Sam showed me how to open its mouth first,”-- here Cas used his index finger to pull down on the tiny lower jaw—“then slip in the bottle.”

 

 The kitten thrashed its head from side to side chewing on the nipple, but not sucking.  Cas sighed, pulled the bottle back, and tried again, with a similar result.  The kitten made a weak, pitiful cry.

 

“Lemme try something,” Dean said.  He squirted a little bit of the formula onto his pinky.  “Open its mouth again.”

 

Together they bent over the kitten, Cas’s hair brushing Dean’s cheek.   Dean dripped the formula into the kitten’s mouth, watching as the wee pink tongue lapped at it and swallowed.  When he moved his finger, the kitten tried to follow it, stretching out its wobbly neck. He repeated the process, and the kitten greedily drank that bit as well.  Nodding to Cas to hold its mouth open once more, he squeezed a drop of formula directly into the kitten’s mouth before slipping the nipple in.   This time the kitten latched on firmly, making swimming motions with both front paws in its excitement.  Formula started to dribble out from the corner of its mouth and Cas placed his hand over Dean’s to adjust the angle of the bottle.

 

They looked at each other, eyes wide, nearly afraid to breathe.  When Cas turned back to the kitten, Dean allowed himself another moment of watching the relief on Cas’s face.

 

“Look!” Cas whispered. 

 

Patch was steadily tugging at the nipple, swallowing noisily as it drank.  The kitten’s ears, which had been lying flat, were now sticking out to the side, fluttering back and forth in perfect rhythm with the suckling. 

 

“What the hell?”  Dean whispered back, grinning.

 

“That’s what the other two do.  Sam says it means they’re eating correctly.” Cas turned a delighted smile on him and Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest.  With Cas’s hand still on top of his, Dean lightly bumped their shoulders together. 

 

“Maybe next time you go out, you could show me where you found them,” Dean offered.

 

“I’d like that,” Cas said, his response followed by a yawn. 

 

By the time the bottle was empty, the kitten’s eyes were closed and its stomach was rounded and protruding.  “Patch needs to be burped now,” Cas said, as Dean removed the bottle.

 

 

“You're kidding me,” Dean said in disbelief, but sure enough Cas slipped one hand underneath the kitten and brought it up to his shoulder.  Dean picked up the towel. “Hang on.”  

 

Cas lifted the kitten up so that Dean could tuck the towel over his shoulder and smooth it across his chest.  (Totally necessary for the kitten’s comfort.  Shut up.)

 

Supporting the weight of the kitten with one hand, Cas used two fingers to pat its back.  The kitten squirmed a little before producing a surprisingly loud burp.  Content now, it scrabbled up onto Cas’s shoulder and curled up. 

 

Dean took the bottle to the kitchen to wash and came back to find both Cas and the kitten fast asleep. 

 

He should definitely take the kitten back to the storage room and put it in the box with the others.  And he should definitely wake Cas up so that he could go get some real sleep in his room.   For a long time, Dean stood and deliberated these perfectly obvious choices.  Then he sat back down.

 

 In his sleep, Cas moved closer, close enough for Patch to take a few tottering steps from Cas’s shoulder to Dean’s.  Dean held perfectly still as the kitten got comfortable, tickling Dean’s neck as is climbed onto his chest.  It kneaded its little paws into the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt a few times then settled in, purring. 

 

This was totally going to end with them playing house with a bunch of kittens. 

*

 

When Sam came out to heat bottles for-- _not Tiger and Socks_ , he corrected himself--the  _other two kittens_ , he found his brother asleep, still sitting upright on the couch, his left hand protectively cradling the tiny orange and white kitten curled up on his chest.  His right hand was protectively threaded through Cas’s hair where he slept with his head in Dean’s lap.

 

Sam quietly shook open a blanket and covered Cas with it.  But first he pulled out his phone and took pictures from at least three different angles.

 

 


End file.
